


In Which Christmas Arrives in a Most Unusual Fashion

by Asidian



Series: In Which an Unlikely Friendship Comes to Be [6]
Category: Journey into Mystery, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Goats, Holidays, Reindeer, Thievery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is Loki, bringer of mischief, reviled of Asgardia, concoctor of schemes. Today, he stands beside his only friend, brow furrowed in thought. "You're of a certainty that his magic watches all the world?"</p><p>Jack nods, distracted. "He should've found it by now. It's not even all that far."</p><p>The two boys peer over the ridge again. The object in question rests cradled gently at the bottom of an icy slope. Its sides are fire-engine red, the runners sleek and strong. It stands easily as tall as either of them, and it is jarringly empty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Christmas Arrives in a Most Unusual Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful Beanclam, who wanted one more fic in this silly little crossover universe of mine.
> 
> This fic makes very little sense without reading the others in the series, but the short version is that Jack and Loki at one point got up to mischief and stole Santa's sleigh.
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone!

It is not quite noon when two pairs of eyes appear above the snowy ridge, peeking out into the valley below. This far north, that means the sun has just risen, and it will stay risen for approximately another hour before plunging the world back into darkness.

The eyes have reappeared, at intervals, all throughout the day. One pair is wintry blue; the other is serpent green. Both are speculative.

"Still there," says the owner of the blue eyes. He stands barefoot in the snow that blankets the ground, and he pays no mind to the cold. His hair is white as the drifts that cover the landscape, and his skin is pale as ice on a frozen lake.

He is Jack Frost, and on most days, he brings snowfall to delighted children. Today, he stands in the frigid north and taps a wooden staff against the ground, as though impatient.

The owner of the green eyes checks again, to confirm the words. "He may not know." The boy's hair is black, and his face is narrow and impish. He strokes his chin, putting on a show of consideration.

He is Loki, bringer of mischief, reviled of Asgardia, concoctor of schemes. Today, he stands beside his only friend, brow furrowed in thought. "You're of a certainty that his magic watches all the world?"

Jack nods, distracted. "He should've found it by now. It's not even all that far."

The two boys peer over the ridge again. The object in question rests cradled gently at the bottom of an icy slope. Its sides are fire-engine red, the runners sleek and strong. It stands easily as tall as either of them, and it is jarringly empty.

"Perhaps his magic has limitations," Loki posits.

They fall silent a moment, considering this newest possibility.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Jack says, at last.

His companion begins to smile. It is the kind of smile that chroniclers in ages long past would have recognized. It is the kind of smile that causes the wary to check their coin pouches.

"We'll need beasts of burden," Loki says, brightly, by way of answer.

===

The goats are great, hulking creatures, and they smell of damp animal.

Mostly likely, this is because they have been driven from the stables with an improbable indoor snowstorm that left the ceilings strung with icicles the size of a child's arm.

Now, they snort and stamp their feet, lower their horns and gnash their teeth. Jack sits on the edge of the sleigh and lets his feet dangle, his portion of the proceedings done. As Loki hooks the second goat to the front of the sleigh, Jack asks, "Your brother won't notice they're gone?"

"With any luck, not before dawn breaks." Loki darts in and out, dodging ill-intentioned hooves and great, nipping goat teeth. It's a skillful dance, and he comes out of it all in one piece.

At last, they stand ready, and Loki takes a step back, panting, to admire his work. "I don't envy you this next bit," he tells Jack, cheerful and unconcerned.

But goats, it seems – even ones as stubborn as the mighty mounts tamed by the legendary Thor – are much less stubborn when they believe they bow to no will but their own. With an invisible boy holding the reins, they shuffle forward and allow themselves to be led, unknowing that they _are_ led.

And when the magic circle drawn into the dirt begins to glow, soft hues of violet and rose, they rear and toss their heads, and Jack leaps out of the way. But their protest comes too late, for the walls of Asgardia melt away to be replaced by a world of winter.

===

The sun at the North Pole is down again by the time they hitch their beasts of burden to the sleigh, check straps and buckles, and set out for their destination.

The goats, they've found, are more amenable when Jack leads them – and so Loki walks ahead a ways, pretending for the sake of the irascible creatures that he has nothing to do with the proceedings. He holds the lantern to light their way, and Jack comes along behind, steps light, holding the reins.

The world seems very small, in that tiny pool of light. It consists of a patch of white, and a pair of young faces, and the steam from the breath of two shaggy monsters.

"Time?" Jack asks.

Loki retrieves a pocket watch from a small pouch at his waist. Then he puts it back, and unfolds a piece of paper, consulting it at length. "Three hours," he announces, "until sundown in Samoa."

"He still needs to get the sleigh loaded," Jack begins, worried – but his words peter out when they crest the next ridge.

It lies before them like a city in the ice: great white towers and fanciful designs, all lit with the warm glow from its windows. The air leaves Jack in a rush of relief, and Loki grins, wicked and wise.

He leans over to prod Jack ungently between the ribs. "Did you think I would condemn the children of Midgard to disappointment on our account?"

"We _were_ cutting it a little close." But Jack grins bright and easy – hooks an arm around Loki's shoulders and shakes him, delighted, like a puppy with a favorite toy.

===

They unhitch the goats, and Jack leads them back out into the darkness. Loki sets the lantern on the corner of the sleigh, so that its light catches the sleek crimson curve.

Then they knock on the great wooden doors and run away – that oldest of schoolboy pranks, played now with hearts pounding and feet light. They throw themselves down in the snow on a nearby ridge, peering over the top as the door cracks open, then creaks wider. "Schaposhnikov," breathes a man's voice, heavily accented. They can't see him – don't dare to look – but barked orders come next, and then the sound of feet crunching through packed snow, the slide of runners as the sleigh is moved.

The boys lie pressed against the snow until it soaks them through, the fronts of their shirts frozen and stiff. Neither feels it; they grin wildly at one another, proud at what they've reaped.

They grin right up until the footsteps draw closer to their hiding place, and they look up and up, to where a huge man with tattooed arms and a luxuriant white beard stares down at them over the curve of his belly. "I have found them at last," says the man, "my sleigh thieves. Now what shall I do with them?"

Two pairs of eyes go round and scared; two pairs of feet scramble on the snow, meaning to bolt.

Meaty hands seize the would-be escapees by the collars of their shirts. "So fast to be leaving," the man says. "Stay awhile, little thieves. We will set this right, the three of us."

===

The sky over Bangladesh is cold and full of stars.

The moon is a gleaming disc, bright as the sun in a sky landscaped with mountains of cloud. Everywhere its light touches, new forms come clear, ethereal wisps made solid in shades of grey and pale.

And there, amid the valley of cloud, passes a more solid shape. The form of it is sleek and powerful; at the front, in harnesses, eight reindeer and two very unamused goats kick at the air and toss their heads.

In the back, two young boys lean out farther than is probably safe, caught up in the tiny lights splayed far below them. And from the man at the reins, a laugh booms out, solid and genial, made famous in tales told by thousands of children all across the world.


End file.
